


Not With a Whimper

by jdjunkie



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Episode: s05e21 Meridian, M/M, Missing Scene, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-22
Updated: 2011-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-22 22:51:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdjunkie/pseuds/jdjunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You were wrong, you know. Earlier. Some lives are more  valuable than others.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not With a Whimper

**Author's Note:**

> This is a missing scene, designed to slot in before Jack goes back to Kelowna with the letter, before Jack and Daniel's last, painful conversation.

Daniel had been injured many times on missions. He’d taken staff blasts, been zatted and had his mind scrambled by ribbon devices. But he’d never truly come face to face with his own mortality, never thought about what it meant to actually die, until now.

He was going to live forever, solve the great mysteries of the universe and retire to feel the warm sands of Abydos beneath his feet, surrounded by Skarra’s children, until he died at a ripe old age and was buried there alongside the wife he loved and lost.

Now, his life was measured in hours and he was going to do none of those things. Accomplish nothing. He was going out with the proverbial whimper. The space would close around him and it would be as if he’d never been there.

It should hurt more, emotionally. Physically, well, it was hurting like a bastard already and would hurt a whole lot more.

He closed his eyes and thought of Sha’uri and his parents and of the kid on his block in New York who was knocked down by a cab and killed on his way to school. Maybe he’d be reunited with them all.

Then he thought of Jack and Sam and Teal’c and he didn’t want to die at all.

He just had time to call for Janet before he vomited all over the infirmary bed.

>>>>> 

Janet had said something about painkillers and anti-emetics.  He’d only been in the infirmary for some baseline assessment tests, although why he needed them was beyond him. He was going to die. Period. Perhaps it would help with medical research or something. He should be amenable to that. He was all about information and data and leaving a legacy.

He was supposed to be sorting through some personal stuff, leaving instructions. Stopping Jack from going medieval on the collective asses of the Kelownan government because he was pretty sure that was what Jack wanted to do. He had the feeling the time for being noble was past, however. There was a not insignificant part of him that wanted to say, “You know what, Jack? Go for it. Tell them all to go to _fucking_ hell, and take their _fucking_ petty politics and narrow-mindedness with them.”

There was no way he was leaving this bed now.

This was it.

His entire life had spiraled down to an uncomfortable one-step-up-from-a-gurney and an observation window. How lovely that his rapid, unpleasant, melting -from-the- inside death could be viewed by all and sundry from the comfort of an emotionally-safe distance. He should sell tickets. Couple of bucks a time. Profits would help pay for the clean-up operation when he disintegrated from the inside out.

He guessed they’d all be coming in, one by one, in a denuded Noah’s Ark-type scenario, to say their goodbyes.

Maybe he could bribe Janet to tell them he was unconscious.

He couldn’t face saying goodbye.

He couldn’t face his own death.

He couldn’t face his own failure.

And he was pretty sure Janet had lied about the painkillers. There were sedatives in there, too. He’d said no to sedatives.  The way she’d looked at him made him think she was doubting her allegiance to the Hippocratic Oath.  He hated what this was doing to her.

He’d said no to the sedatives because if he was going to have to go through this, he wanted to actually go through it. But Janet was smart. Janet knew a thing or two about pain. He wasn’t going to tell tales out of school. He’d thank her in the end. Actually, mental note: thank her before the end.

Thing was, though, how could he _go through it_ when all he wanted to do was sleep?

Perchance to ...

>>>>> 

“Hey.”

It sounded like Jack. Fuck.  Shouldn’t he be hounding the Tok’ra or the Asgard or something? He’d told him not to, but when did Jack ever take notice of anything he said? Jack told him to shut up, wanted to push him through walls. Actually listening to him was something else.

He forced his eyes open. His eyelids hurt. Who knew such a thing could happen? He’d been dreaming about monks and brilliant white lights and candelight and rivers. “Hey.” His throat hurt too. It was dry and scratchy.

“Want some water?” Jack was perched on a stool by his bed, trying not to look uncomfortable about being there.

“Want a new body more, but water would be good.”

His head was lifted gently off the pillow and he swallowed the cool water in that awkward way that happens when your neck is at the wrong angle. Oh, and your muscles don’t seem to work properly anymore. He coughed and managed to dribble onto his gown and pillow.

Fuck. How very appealing.

Jack didn’t seem to mind. He reached for a tissue and wiped gently at his mouth. It was an oddly intimate gesture.

“Don’t wipe too hard. Need every skin cell I’ve got.”  Gallows humor. He was good at that. He’d learned from the master.  Jack didn’t seem to be laughing now, though.

“Christ, Jack. Don’t get a sense of humor failure on me now.” The bandages on his hands had been removed and it was a blessed relief. They’d been itchy and uncomfortable. Janet had taken some persuading. He looked at the wounds the bandages had hidden, red and raw. He saw Jack looking.

Jack pursed his lips, his eyes roving around the room, seeming to see everything and settle on nothing. “Feel better without the bandages?” he asked eventually.

“Yes, but they’ll be back, I guess. Since they’ll be holding me together.”

Jack winced at that and then fell silent, as though he was struggling not to say something as much as he was struggling to say something ... anything.

“Carter and Teal’c want to see you. I said I’d ask you if it was okay.”

 _Not really. I’m shit at saying goodbye and I can’t cope with my own tears, let alone theirs._ “It’s fine. I might not be my usual cheery self, however, and they’ll have to excuse me if I start bleeding out. It could get messy.”

That appeared to piss Jack off. He leaned in. “Look. I get it. You’re angry.” So was he, brown eyes narrowing and darkening.

“No shit Sherlock.”

“Take it out on me if you have to, but they want to be with you because they care.”

“Is that why you’re here? Because you care?” Oops. Getting a little personal now. _Well, if not now, huh, Jack?_ After five years, no ... more, of subtle and not-so-subtle flirting and skirting around their mutual attraction. _If not now ...._

Jack leaned back, kind of startled. It would have been funny if it weren’t for the fact that this was quite possibly the last conversation they’d ever have.

“I’ll get back to you on that.” Deflect, deny, dissemble ... how very Jack O’Neill.

“You’re really bad at this stuff,” Daniel sighed. This was going nowhere.

“Yes. I am.”

“Well, at least we’re agreed on that.”

“We usually agree in the end.”

“Or agree to disagree.”

“Or that.”

And that seemed to drain the well of banter.

A sudden wave of sickness threatened to overwhelm him and he reached blindly for a basin. Jack held it for him while he threw up little more than bile but retched repeatedly as his stomach tried to expel what wasn’t there.

Exhausted, he lay down and closed his eyes, the blood singing in his ears, his heart beating way too fast. So much for anti-emetics, then.

A minute later, he felt a cool compress on his forehead. It was heaven. An angel from the nursing staff sent to minister to his every need. Except that, when he opened his eyes, it was Jack pressing the soothing cloth to his heated skin, his face blank but his eyes sad and angry. 

“That feels good,” he offered, because it did and because Jack deserved better than the shit he’d been doling out since he woke to find him sitting there.

“Good.” The end of the word almost disappeared as Jack swallowed hard. He was being so gentle, dabbing slowly, so obviously wanting to make it better

Nothing could make this better.

He was dying.

Christ.

The cloth was pressed to his forehead one more time, and it lingered there, like a cotton kiss, soft but real.

“Hammond’s insisting I deliver a letter to the Kelownans. Wants to lay the groundwork for future negotiations. Trade for the naquadria.” Jack virtually spat the words out. He threw the cloth into a bowl with undisguised disgust.

“Well. At least some good might come out of this.”

“Nothing good will come out of this.” Now he _was_ angry. “Oh wait. No there is something ... assuming the fucking Kelownans do eventually go ahead and blow their fucking asses to hell. That would be good.”

He sighed. “More deaths is never good, Jack.” His earlier anger had drained away. He felt tired and defeated. He’d been afraid that once he let the anger diminish a sense of hopelessness would take its place. It looked as though he’d been right.

“Oh, I’ll deliver the letter. Personally. It’ll just come with an unwritten addendum.” Jack picked up a thermometer and started playing with it, turning it this way and that. “I’ve got a whole speech...” He tapped his temple, “up here.”

Daniel smiled. It hurt. His skin stretched tight. Felt like it would crack and split open. Very much like his heart.

“Don’t do anything you might regret later.” He coughed and Jack helped him to another sip of water.

“I don’t do regrets, Daniel.”

And the way Jack looked at him, the anguished, desperate look that passed so quickly across his face was almost enough to convince the man dying from the inside out in the bed that this was it. This was the moment.

All those touches and pats and half-finished sentences. All those late-night visits where nothing was said but everything was known, all those team nights that started with four and ended with two, all the half-formed arguments  that masked fully-formed feelings. All the meaningful looks and more meaningful silences, the pain and loss shared and the tears and frustration not shared.

All of it.

All that ... love.

“Sir, General Hammond says the letter is ready. You have a go.”  Janet. Watching him, watching them, standing ready to be doctor and friend. To both of them.

From somewhere, he found another smile. Smaller, more resigned. Jack was looking at him, thermometer in hand, body still and stiff and reluctant to move.

“Sir?”

Jack swallowed. Nodded.  Looked at the thermometer as though he’d never seen it before and placed it with a soft click on the stool as he stood. He futzed with it. Straightening it, lining it up with God knew what. _Playing for time? Don’t want to leave but can’t stay, huh?_ Even now.

“I’ll be back. Soon.” Jack shoved his hands in his pockets. They were shaking.

“Give ‘em hell. Within reason.”

“Always the reasonable one.”

But it fell flat.

His eyes followed the man as he walked away, booted footsteps echoing loudly on the concrete floor. By the doorway, he stopped and half-turned. “You were wrong, you know. Earlier. Some lives are more valuable than others.” And then Jack was gone.

Janet fussed over him a little, mainly just being there.

“Tell Sam and Teal’c ... anytime they’re ready.”

Janet touched his shoulder lightly and smiled.

If he was going out with a whimper, he was doing it with those who loved him. Even those who didn’t know how to say it.

 

ends


End file.
